


dust off your highest hopes

by takeittothestars



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takeittothestars/pseuds/takeittothestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://howlnatural.tumblr.com/post/79063311950/">this prompt</a> from Niamh:<br/>"Yes I know we all love the pretend-boyfriends trope but why aren’t there 100 more stories of Derek or Stiles pretending to be someone else’s pretend boyfriend and the other getting really fucking jealous about it - because one-night-stands are one thing but seeing someone they’ve been in denial about crushing on act all affectionate and boyfriendly with someone they’re comfortable around is a new brand of hell.</p>
<p>Like Erica taking Derek to her high school reunion as a little fuck-you to all the idiots who never noticed her, or Lydia recruiting Stiles to some smart people convention still stuck in the Dark Ages and only taking men’s research seriously, so she uses the most convenient boy in her life as a gateway to get in there and shame all the closed-minded assholes.</p>
<p>Like of course it’s all pretend but they’re a little TOO good at acting it out and then whoever isn’t in on it is at the hotel bar angrily ordering ice cream sundaes and looking for someone to hit on to take their mind off it and failing miserably.</p>
<p>WHY ISNT THERE MORE?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	dust off your highest hopes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhoNatural](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoNatural/gifts).



Right, so, when Stiles said he could handle this, he may have miscalculated. He may have underestimated the – uh – _feelings_ involved. Because he can handle a lot of things, alright? He handled the death of his mother at age 12, he handled successfully appealing to Berkeley to up his financial aid by $10,000 a year, he fucking handled starting a business in this economy. He’s a capable fucking adult who does adult things, so of course he thought he could handle his ten-year high school reunion and a tiny little crush on a friend.

Yeah, no, he was wrong on that front.

Because Derek.

Because Derek is here with him, Scott, and Erica, in glasses and pants that are just a shade too tight, arm wrapped around Erica’s waist, smiling and laughing and charming the pants off of everyone in a five-mile radius. And alright, fine, Stiles was the one that encouraged Derek to step back into the dating pool after all these years. And yeah, he will always be Erica’s number one wingman. But, fuck, he didn’t mean the _two of them_ should get together.

See, Stiles thought it’d be great seeing the people he loves happy and in love _,_ but actually – no. No, it’s not great. No, it’s torture. No, Stiles gets that Erica wants to one-up all the assholes they went to high school with, and Stiles gets that Derek deserves good things in his life, but also Stiles is an asshole who has never suffered more in _his entire life._

‘I’m Derek,’ Derek says, offering a hand to their senior class president, Brian Lau. ‘I’m with Erica,’ he adds.

‘Wonderful to meet you,’ Brian says warmly. 'Now, tell me how you met - I hear it's a great story, very New York.'

Erica throws her head back and lets out a peal of laughter, her curly blonde hair falling over her shoulder like she’s in a goddamn L’Oreal commercial. Stiles tries to set her on fire with his mind. Instead of bursting into flames, she smoothes a hand over the wrinkles in Derek's black Hugo Boss shirt – the one that Stiles and Derek bought together for his dad and Melissa’s wedding reception – and says, ‘Der, you tell the story. I never get it right.’

‘Alright, babe,’ Derek says. He smiles fondly at her before launching into the story of how they knew each other for years and years, having met through mutual friends in New York, but they’d never thought of each other in a romantic light. Then, some guy stood Erica up and as Derek swung by to grab coffee with her, they both realised what a great match they could be. ‘That idiot’s mistake was the best moment of my life,’ Derek says, gazing adoringly into Erica’s eyes. She lets out an almost imperceptible sigh, inching closer to him, and suddenly Stiles can't breathe.

‘I have to go,’ he mumbles. ‘Excuse me.’ He spins around and walks to the bar, fists clenched, and orders a gin and tonic just as Scott joins him.

‘Saw that,’ Scott says apologetically. He raises his hand and flags the bartender over again to order a deluxe cookie sundae and a Guinness float. Stiles grunts in thanks and tips his drink back, taking a brief moment to scoff at his past self for thinking this would be a perfectly fine – even successful – event.

-

Over the next hour, it seems like Erica and Derek are hell-bent on driving Stiles insane, all wandering hands and soft eyes, every inch the perfect couple. It’s probably punishment for all the bad thoughts Stiles is thinking; how he’s already got four half-formed plans to break up two of his closest friends, how the romantic comedy where he’s The Other Man is reeling through his head constantly.

-

‘Stilinski!’ someone shouts an hour and four drinks (probably more) later. Stiles looks up from the remains of his ice cream to see Brett Reynolds stumbling towards him in five-inch heels, waving her arms around. ‘Have you heard? Somebody’s won the reunion!’

‘What?’

‘Somebody’s won the reunion!’ she repeats. ‘That Erica girl, you were friends with her, right? The one that had all the seizures? Well, you’ll never guess – She’s dating a Calvin Klein model! The one on that billboard by Union Square!’

‘No,’ Stiles says tonelessly. ‘That’s crazy. Wow.’

Brett gives him an affronted look. ‘It _is_ crazy!’ She leans in conspiratorially and whispers, ‘He volunteers in his off time and coaches Little League baseball. Writes for the Huffington Post, too,’ before moving away with a meaningful eyebrow raise.

Stiles blinks after her for a minute, before sighing and giving into the urge to look like a bedraggled puppy. This is it, he thinks – this is the lowest point of all his lows. This is the mountain that he can’t climb. This is the puddle he can’t hop across.

‘This is the dramatic monologue of your life,’ the bartender says from behind him, and Stiles starts, realizes that he’s been talking aloud. ‘Sorry man,’ the bartender says, shrugging, and Stiles is almost drunk enough to miss the small smile he hides behind the glass he’s wiping down.

Stiles takes the last sip of his drink, holds it in his mouth until the taste burns, and swallows with a loud gulp. ‘God, I’m pathetic.’

‘A little bit,’ the guy agrees mildly.

‘I can’t believe I suggested this. A month ago I was so pumped – I was gonna show everyone up, show them how I wasn’t weird Bilinski anymore, and now I want to drown myself in the hotel pool.’ He slumps into the bar and pillows his head on his arms, letting out a distressed whine.

‘We could pretend to be dating, if that would help?’

‘No,’ Stiles groans, ‘they would never believe that. But thanks for the suggestion.’

‘What are bartenders for, right? But look, this doesn’t have to ruin your night.’

Stiles lifts his head. ‘No man, you don’t get it. They’re just so – _happy,’_ he spits out, waving a hand at where they’re dancing now, Derek spinning Erica under his arm as they whisper and laugh at each other. ‘And I know I should be happy that they’re happy, and I definitely want them to be happy, but I don’t want them to be happy if they’re happy together because then I’m not happy and I want to be happy.’

The bartender nods understandingly, if a little mockingly, and the two of them spend a minute longer watching Erica and Derek. They’re slow-dancing now, swaying on the spot as they spin slowly to Michael Buble; Stiles feels like the jilted nerd in a high school movie, lonely and jealous for something so unreachable it’s galaxies away. He watches Erica shift and pull Derek closer, whisper something in his ear, and Derek throws his head back to laugh. Just for a second, he catches Stiles’ eye, and when he smiles his eyes are light and happy, almost sparkling. Stiles does his best to look like he’s not suffering major gastrointestinal pain when he smiles back.

From here on out, Stiles thinks, the rest of this reunion could go a few ways. He could spend the rest of his time suffering in silence, moping as he makes his way through the Hilton’s dessert menu, or he could – well, he could hit a few birds with one stone. He is, after all, nothing but resourceful, to quote his elementary school teachers whenever he got glue stuck up a nostril, and he can _totally_ find someone to blow in the bathroom and grind on right in from of Derek. Yeah. _Hell yeah._ What a solid fucking plan.

‘Totally,’ the bartender says, and Stiles grins, raises his hand for a high-five, doesn’t even realise he hadn’t meant to monologue aloud. ‘I’m Stiles, by the way. Stiles Stilinski.’

‘Boyd,’ the bartender says with a nod. ‘And I know. We, uh, we actually went to high school together?’ For the first time, he breaks his cool, impassive exterior and looks unsure, almost hesitant.

‘No way, dude!’ Stiles squints at him again and, yeah, he can kinda see it now – the kid who moved to Beacon Hills halfway through their junior year and sat alone in the library most lunches. ‘Vernon, right?’

_‘Just Boyd,’_ he repeats with a well-practiced grimace, and Stiles laughs.

‘Alright, alright, _just Boyd._ You got any more liquid courage for me before I go?’

‘I don’t think that’s the smartest idea – ’

‘Hey, just take my money, would you? I’m pathetic.’ Stiles turns his best puppy dog eyes on, and Boyd rolls his eyes as he slides two shots of tequila across the bar.

-

Sometime around the fifth failure, Stiles gives up completely. ‘It’d be nice if you could just pretend this isn’t to make her jealous,’ Abby Mills whispers viciously, whacking him on the arm with her purse before stomping away. Stiles shrugs and turns around, stumbling back to his barstool. With each passing minute, the first option he considered – moping into various dessert items – is sounding more and more appealing.

‘Vernon!’ he calls, resting his head on his pillowed arms, ‘I’ve failed horrifically. My ship has sunk. My wily seductions are no match for the uninterested men and women of our class.’

‘I saw.’ The corner of Boyd’s mouth quirks up as he pushes across a glass of water, and Stiles grins and makes grabby hands when Boyd follows it up with a pint of rocky road.

‘Knew I could count on you, Milton – ’ yeah, Stiles totally Facebook-stalked him as soon as they met – ‘Hey, remind me again why the fuck we weren’t friends in high school?’

‘I’m not friends with dicks named Gościsław,’ Boyd says coolly, and alright, shit, the number of people in Northern America who can say that perfectly has suddenly skyrocketed. Stiles raises impressed eyebrows and shoots a finger gun at him, smiling through a mouthful of ice cream when Boyd rolls his eyes and mimes a shoulder wound.

-

After an hour, encompassing a Tobey Magurie vs. Andrew Garfield debate, a game of hangman on a bar napkin, and a one-sided (Stiles-sided) game of Never Have I Ever, Boyd’s called away to the kitchens on a wine emergency. Stiles has no idea what that is, but it sounds fun, and he tells Boyd so.

‘It just means some dipshit can’t tell the difference between a Chardonnay and a Pinot Grigio,’ Boyd says. Stiles cackles and throws his head back so hard he almost falls off the stool.

It’s entirely possible that he’s more than a little drunk at this point. It’s also entirely possible that he’s staying upright only through sheer force of will. He’s long past pleasantly buzzed, and he’s heading away from giggly with a lack of filter straight into the territory of completely smashed. With the shred of self-respect and willpower he has left, he turns away from the enticing wall of booze in front of him and promptly chokes on his own spit.

_‘How dare she,’_ he hisses, crumpling a napkin in his hand. Because, look, that’s _Erica_ , as in Derek’s girlfriend, and that’s _Boyd,_ as in not Derek, and that’s a smile and a laugh and a sweeping hand that’s way outside just-friend’s territory. Stiles watches as Derek approaches and claps a hand to Boyd's shoulder, grinning at him loose and happy and not at all like someone should look at a traitor who just stole his girlfriend, and isn’t that just the worst – because Derek doesn’t even realise that the love of his life has been stolen from him. God. He _deserves_ this nice thing, damn it, and Stiles scowls as Erica and Boyd leave the room, Boyd’s hand on the small of her back.

Derek walks across the room to the bar and sits without noticing Stiles. He orders scotch, and swirls it once before downing it all in one go. Stiles winces just looking at him, sinks down a little in his barstool with shame. He supposes this is maybe all his fault. He did wish Erica and Derek would break up swiftly and catastrophically the whole plane ride over. Maybe he called it; maybe he simply willed the surely impending break-up into being.

Just then, Derek catches his eye and waves him over onto the other side of the bar. Stiles goes, giving him a half-hearted grin as he approaches.

‘Hey,’ Derek says.

‘Hey yourself.’

Derek smiles, but he looks sad and tired, like maybe he’s already realised that his budding new romance has gone down the drain. Stiles thinks of the way Derek and Erica do couples yoga, the perfect portmanteau that is Derica, the fond smile Erica had when she fixed Derek’s tie in the car, and is, abruptly, a little devastated. He claps a hand on Derek’s back and leans in close.

‘I’m sorry, dude. It’s tough. Rough.’

‘Uh – What?’

‘Tough and rough. Rough and tough. Both of them.’

‘Stiles,’ Derek says, laughing as he leans back against the bar, body a long, smooth, tantalizing line, ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’

‘You and Erica, man! And Boyd!’ Stiles scowls at him, annoyed.

‘Me and Erica and Boyd?’

‘Yeah,’ Stiles says meaningfully. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I really don’t,’ Derek laughs. He reaches out an arm and tugs Stiles closer with it, tucking his head into the crook of Stiles’ neck. The music has risen and now fallen into quiet, sleepy tracks for couples slow dancing on the floor, and Stiles – Stiles can’t resist.

‘Dance with me,’ he says quietly, and then again, louder: ‘Dance with me?’

Derek rolls his head to the side, looks up and blinks sleepily at him behind his long lashes for a second before smiling. ‘Sure,’ he murmurs, and leads Stiles out to the dance floor by the hand, spinning him around once before settling with his hands on Stiles’ hips.

They sway in a circle as Ed Sheeran plays through the speakers: _Kiss me like you wanna be loved – This feels like I’ve fallen in love,_ and Stiles closes his eyes, thinks of Erica, can’t bear to pull himself away so he moves in closer instead. He rests his head on Derek’s shoulder as they sway, turns his head and gusts out a breath onto Derek’s neck. He smells like the deep, musky cologne he uses for special occasions, and Stiles breathes it in as discreetly as he can. _I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love, from love to lust, from lust to truth,_ Ed sings, and Stiles bites his lip to keep back his smile, thinks of the first day they met and the raging argument they had over a baseball game, the next years of Derek staring out at him from the pages of GQ, sleepy texts in hotels across the world, countless moments dropping together to form an ocean of whatever this thing is that he feels – ‘Derek,’ Stiles whispers, pulls back and looks him in the eye right as Mazzy Star starts to play.

‘Yeah?’ Derek whispers back. He smiles slow and soft and sweet at Stiles, and Stiles is sorry, and he hates himself already. But he leans in anyway, hears the hitch in Derek’s breath, feels his blood rush to his head, and fits their lips together, like two pieces of a puzzle clicking together at last. It lasts for a second – a beautiful, glorious second, Derek’s hands clenched tight in the back Stiles’ shirt – before Stiles comes to and jerks back.

‘Oh god. I’m so sorry. I’ll – I have to go,’ he rushes out, and leaves Derek alone on the floor as Hope Sandoval sings, _I think it’s strange you never knew._

-

He paces inside his hotel room for half an hour afterwards, until Scott rolls out of his bed and forces him inside his own, mumbling sleepy words of comfort and promising they’ll work it out in the morning. Thinking of the soft pressure of Derek’s lips against his, Stiles falls into a restless sleep, Erica looming around his dreams like a specter.

-

Stiles is woken by an angry Erica Reyes banging on his door, yelling up a storm.

Stiles is terrified.

‘Stilinski! Stilinski! Stilins-fucking-ski!’

From the bed beside him, Scott stares wide-eyed. ‘I should get that,’ he says, making no move to stand.

‘It’s cool, man,’ Stiles sighs. He heaves himself up and rubs his eyes with his hands, hard, before swinging his legs out of bed. Giving Scott a grim smile, he stands and claps him on the back. ‘You should go. I’ll get that. I’ll be fine.’

‘If you say so,’ Scott says doubtfully, and pulls Stiles in for a hug anyway before grabbing his jacket and heading towards the door. Just before he opens it, he turns back around and says, ‘I left the fire extinguisher out. Do what you need to do.’ He nods decisively, turns, and exits, giving Erica a nervous smile as he goes.

As expected, Erica storms through the door and stabs Stiles in the chest with her finger. ‘You son of a bitch!’

Stiles walks backwards, pushed by her finger, and flops down helplessly on the bed. ‘I know,’ he says tonelessly.

‘Damn right you shouldn’t have! What the fuck were you thinking? What right do you have, to go around fucking people up like that?’

‘You’re right.’

‘Damn right I’m right! How could you do this to him? You know how he feels!’

Erica glares at him, and Stiles feels shame swallow him whole.

‘I’m sorry, Erica. I really am. I should’ve – I shouldn’t have done that to you guys.’

‘To _us?’_

‘Yeah. It’s been so soon since you guys started dating, and I just – I hope I haven’t ruined everything between you two.’

‘Ruined everything?’

‘I didn’t mean to let my feelings get in the way.’

‘Let your feelings get in the way?’

Stiles casts her a reproachful look. ‘Are you here to beat me up or parrot back everything I say?’ he asks.

‘I’m here,’ Erica says slowly, ‘to get your story.’

‘Ah. You’re here to torture me.’

Erica shrugs, and plops down on the end of the bed. ‘Basically. Now go ahead, Stilinski, I’m all ears.’

-

At the end of his story (filled with his best Scott ‘puppy’ McCall looks), Erica stands up, grabs a pillow, and whacks him in the face with it, hard.

‘I deserved that,’ he says glumly.

‘Yeah, but not for the reasons you think.’ She sighs heavily and hugs him tightly as she sits down next to him. ‘Look – I’m not mad at you.’

‘That’s cute,’ Stiles scoffs. ‘Just enact your revenge plan and then can we please go back to normal?’

‘No, I’m serious. I’m not mad at you.’

Stiles blinks at her. His heart’s doing a strange thing, as if it’s not sure if it wants to soar for joy or shred itself into smithereens.

Erica rolls her eyes and plows ahead, with the air of a mother explaining something elementary to an extremely difficult child. ‘I wanted to show up all the assholes from high school with a hot boyfriend today, and I did.’ She stands and picks a piece of lint off her t-shirt before cupping his face and pressing a kiss to his forehead. ‘For someone on the Time 100 list, you’re incredibly obtuse.’ He splutters in protest, but she just raises her voice over it as she walks to the door. ‘You’re better at playing your cards close to your chest than you think, Stilinski. Go talk to him. It’ll go better than you think. Room 314,’ she adds, and leaves.

-

Stiles paces in front of room 314 for fifteen minutes before the door’s yanked open, and Derek glares at him from inside the door. ‘Get in, you’re wearing a hole in the damn carpet,’ he hisses. Shocked, Stiles hurries inside, only to stand pathetically in front of Derek, hands limp and dangling by his sides.

‘I – ’ he starts, stops, and looks at Derek pleadingly.

‘It’s four in the morning, you’re not getting any help,’ Derek says.

‘Asshole.’

Derek sneers at him, and the worst thing about all of this is that he’s in those outrageously tight Calvin Klein boxer briefs he's wearing on the billboard in Union Square.

‘Look,’ Stiles says, raising a hand to run through his hair. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t – I didn’t – ’

If possible, Derek closes off even more. He folds his arms and stares at Stiles, poker-faced.

‘I’m sorry,’ Stiles repeats. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before flexing his hands in front of himself and looking straight up at Derek, gaze steely. ‘I’m sorry I did that to you last night. But Erica said I should talk to you, so here I am. I just – ’ He deflates, and rubs a hand across his face. ‘I just hope we can be alright again.’

‘Erica said I should get how you really feel out of you,’ Derek blurts, almost as if he hadn’t heard Stiles at all. ‘She said I should interrogate you until you cave. No matter what it takes.’

‘I, uh, that’s not – ’

‘Why,’ Derek interrupts. ‘Why would she say that? Unless there’s something I should know,’ he finishes quietly.

Stiles sighs, closes his eyes again, knows that his time is up. There’s no use prolonging things now. ‘I love you,’ he says quietly, exhaled like a prayer on the darkest of nights. There’s a sharp intake of breath from across him, and Stiles squeezes his eyes tighter. ‘I love you,’ he repeats, in an even quieter tone, ‘and I have for – for a while, now.’ He opens his eyes, takes a step back and holds his arms in front of him, shrugging helplessly. ‘So that’s – that’s it,’ he says, laughing without any joy.

All of a sudden Derek’s right in front of him, crowding up into his space and cupping his cheeks, breathing right into his face. ‘Erica and I aren’t dating,’ he rushes out, ‘We never were. It was fake, it was all fake, and I’m – I’m so glad you’re here.’ He laughs a little, like he can't help it, and slowly, ever so slowly, Stiles brings his own hands up to Derek’s waist, all that warm skin open for the taking.

Derek groans and fits himself between Stiles’ legs, staring deep into his eyes. ‘Stiles,’ he says, and Stiles swears his name has never sounded better, ‘Stiles – I love you. And I have for a while now, too,’ he says, grinning.

‘I’m guessing Erica thinks we’re both idiots right now,’ Stiles whispers, his mouth gusting a breath right over Derek’s lips.

‘She was always smarter than us anyway.’ Derek shrugs, and with that motion he’s finally there, lips and teeth and tongue and all, dragging deliciously over Stiles just like he’s wanted for so long. Stiles groans deep in his body and moves his hands to Derek’s ass, squeezing tight as Derek slams him back against the wall.

‘You’ve wanted this for a long time, huh,’ Stiles says, amused and so, so awed.

‘We both have,’ Derek says, ‘now come back here and give me a kiss.'

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr at [alphaass](http://alphaass.tumblr.com/) \- Come hang out!  
> (Sorry about the title. I just got my wisdom teeth out? And I've been listening to Taylor Swift nonstop?)


End file.
